Setting: After the Fall, Spike and Illyria are living at the abandoned fairgrounds.

"What is the point of this?" Illyria asked. When Spike looked up to see what the Blue Meanie was indicating this time, he saw her holding a bottle of cheap beer in her hand. She turned side to side, examining it with a harsh, detached gaze that reminded him of how she looked at him.

If that sounded bitter, it was probably because he'd already drank eight of those cheap beers, and had sixteen left to go. He wasn't yet sure whether it was a lucky thing or not that he'd found them sitting in a fridge in the middle of their abandoned fairgrounds home. He was already feeling just a little bit woozy, like when he'd tried to drink all of the tiny bottles on Angel's private plane, but the jet lag was what did him in.

"You drink it," Spike told her. Something about her returning glance told him that she already knew that and wasn't stupid enough to fall for that dismissal. "It gives you a buzz. Eventually."

Spike shrugged his shoulders, reaching for another bottle. "You could say that."

"It would make me forget my grief for Wesley?" Illyria questioned.

Spike squinted at her, trying to figure out if she was going to be his drinking buddy in another second. "Yeah?"

"And also him," Illyria concluded. "I refuse." She tossed the bottle and it shattered on the ground a few yards away.

"Not permanently, pet," Spike sighed. "Just while you're drinking. 'Cause it wears off after a while, you know."

"The poison is already affecting you," Illyria observed.

"Because I'm a third of the way through a twenty-four pack," Spike informed her, met by a blank stare. "Look, just try one. It will barely faze you… except for the taste, maybe… if you can taste things."

"You would make me forget." Illyria grabbed Spike's shirt, but it only made him stumble mildly.

"Takes more than one to get that far," Spike assured her. "Especially since this isn't good stuff by any standards, but it'll do the trick."

"What trick?" Illyria queried, her head tilting at a sharp angle.

"Making this fair fun."

"This is a buzz?" Illyria asked, moving her hands on the wheel slowly, but her grip was more than strong enough to make up for it.

"No, pet," Spike said, enthusiastically pulling on the wheel to keep them spinning. "Not for you, yet, unless you're highly sensitive to alcohol. Really highly. This is something children do for fun."

"This vertigo is fun?" Illyria wondered.

"I think so, yeah," Spike chuckled wildly. It had been a hell of a good time getting the ride fired up. First he had to convince Illyria to sit in the oversized teacup and wait for him, and explain what to do. Then he had to get it working and dodge other spinning teacups to get back to her. Fortunately, Illyria was very good-natured about things today.

"It is disorienting."

"Bingo. That's the point," Spike smirked, letting himself roll to the movements of the teacup more than necessary. The faster he spun, the more the speed almost hurt and the faster he wanted to go. "I know it's hard for you to have fun without killing people with your fists, but… just go with it. Enjoy the way it feels."

Illyria sat up straight at that suggestion and then did so. It was mildly enjoyable, in an odd way to experience something so unusual. It also pleased Spike to make the ride spin faster, so she complied with his desires, more curious to see where it was going to ultimately end up.

"Ugh," Spike groaned. He turned away from the puddle of what he'd just thrown up and spat into the dirt.

"Blue, just go," he mumbled when he turned around and found her standing there gawking, blocking his path. He wasn't too pleased that she had decided to watch him puke his guts out on the ground.

"Are you dying?" she asked, still staring off at where he'd gotten sick.

He moved past her and went back to his stash of beer, opening a new bottle. He took a large swig, swished it around his mouth and spat it out. The flavor in his mouth didn't improve by much.

"On the contrary, pet, I feel even better than before," Spike said.

"I'm fairly certain that you lost some of your viscera," Illyria said. She turned her eyes to him. "Although your kind doesn't require it."

"Did you just make a joke?" Spike asked, a grin stuck to his face, eyebrows climbing as he waited. He finally laughed. "Good for you!"

"You ingest the poison just to purge it from your system," Illyria noted. "This is not logical."

"Not about logic, pet," Spike told her. "It's just about how it makes you feel."

"And how do you feel?"

Spike paused and lifted his beer in salute to her, the demon wearing the face of a dead girl he still loved. "Fantastic."

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